


Just a Cup

by Goldenheartedrose



Series: Asexy April [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenheartedrose/pseuds/Goldenheartedrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock ponders...tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Cup

It was such a small thing, and yet it was as much a part of who John was as his sandy brown hair or his propensity for warm jumpers.  Sherlock could deduce many things about John, some even before they had shared more than a few words, but this one he hadn’t figured out quite yet.  He didn’t quite understand what to make of John’s attachment to being the one to make the tea.

The pair had just woken up? Time for tea.

Sherlock hadn’t eaten enough? Time for tea.

There was a case on? Time for tea.

Sherlock was dead? Time for tea.

Sherlock wasn’t dead? Time for tea.

One of them had a nightmare? Time for tea.

 

Sherlock couldn’t say that John wasn’t good at this.  Clearly he had been making tea for a long time.  Clearly there was some reason for it, but what that was – well, that remained unclear.

“John,” Sherlock asked one afternoon.  They had just finished up a long, stressful case, and yet again, John was putting on the kettle.

“Hmmm?”

“I know this is an odd question, and well, most of my queries might be considered odd to you, really, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t need to ask them,”

“Sherlock.  Just ask.”

“What is it with you and the tea?”

“Come again?”

“You have some sort of – I don’t know, almost emotional attachment to making tea.”

“Someone once told me that you could measure how bad a problem was by whether tea could fix it.”

“But tea’s just a beverage.  I mean, yes, it has its calming properties, but it can’t really fix anything.”

“Well, no, of course not.  Not literally, anyhow. But it’s like…” John thought for a moment.  “Ah! It’s like a hug.  It’s like, no, another person’s arms aren’t literally going to help you feel better, because they don’t physically transmit any sort of magical properties, but somehow they do cause you to feel a little bit better when another person hugs you.”

“Do they?”

“Yes, well, that’s the general idea, anyhow. Or like when I run my fingers through your hair. My fingers aren’t actually magical. But that does make you feel better.”

“Ah. Hmm.” Sherlock pondered that for a moment.  “You like to make me tea when I won’t eat.”

“Well, I worry about you.  You have to have something – I don’t want you collapsing at a crime scene.”

“And you make tea whenever one of us is up in the middle of the night.”

“You mean when one of us has a nightmare.”

Sherlock sighed in exasperation.  “Yes, all right, fine.  When one of us has a nightmare.”

“There’s no shame in having dreams, Sherlock.”

“Yes, all right.  I know.”  He sighed.  “I just don’t like them.”

John laughed.  “Well, no, I don’t imagine that anyone would enjoy a nightmare, Sherlock.  They’re not particularly enjoyable.”

“Right.  So.  That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Which is what, again?”

“What’s your personal attachment to making tea? I know why you do it, and I realize the enjoyment you get out of it, but it’s almost as though you have some sort of emotional attachment to it.”

“Why, are you offering to make the tea?”

“No. It was just a question.”

 “Okay.  I guess, well, I guess it started when I was a kid.”

“When you were a child.”

“Yes.”  He cleared his throat.  “I was 12.  My father had just died, and my mother – well, she didn’t really know how to go on, to do much beyond survive without my dad.  I guess that’s when I started doing more domestic things.”

“What about Harry?”

“Well, Harry was older, yes.  But, well, you’ve met her.  A bit on the reckless side. Not unlike another someone I know,” he added, punching Sherlock gently in the shoulder.

“Touché.”

“Anyhow, it was just something I did.  Mum eventually snapped out of it.” John shrugged.

“That doesn’t exactly excuse you having to take care of yourself at age 12.”

“Well, no. But I was capable of doing it.  She wasn’t.  So I did it.”

“Hmm.  It means something to you.  Making tea is a gesture of…love.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“So when I make tea for you, that’s something special to you.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Because it is more than just a cup of tea. It’s a kind gesture.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That makes sense. John?”

“Hmm?”

Sherlock stood and reached for the kettle. “Let me.”

 


End file.
